


Shattered

by MissNMikaelson



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNMikaelson/pseuds/MissNMikaelson
Summary: It's not like I haven't played the role before, but it's never hurt so much to hear the words.I feel like my heart has shattered into a million pieces that no amount of superglue can hold.





	1. Elena

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own TVD or TO
> 
> Warning. This story is perhaps one of the darkest ones I have ever written. There's angst, torture, rape (no graphic descriptions or images, but it does happen), lots of angst, death.
> 
> If any of the above is a trigger back away now.
> 
> Normally I wouldn't break up a story meant to be a oneshot that stays under 7000 words, but I tried something new (writing in first person) and swapped the viewpoint. Every chapter is a different point of view. I think I did a good enough job that it's clear who's eyes you're looking through in each section though.

I want to hate him, but I can't.

He told me he never loved me. He told me I was just a stand-in for a woman he couldn't have.

He said it all with such coldness and a touch of the arrogance he had when we first met, and all I want to do is hate him.

But I can't.

He played the part so well. He made me believe the things he would tell me in quiet moments. He tricked me into feeling it too.

It's not like I haven't played the role before, but it's never hurt so much to hear the words.

I feel like my heart has shattered into a million pieces that no amount of superglue can hold.

If I get out of here I'm going to launch the fragments into space. Nobody will ever get their hands on my heart again. The shards are too fragile, but they'll still deliver a good cut to anyone who tries to touch.

I want to say they're mine, but the pieces that remain are the ones I gave away; 'return to sender' is scrawled over the bleeding mess.

I thought he was mending the mangled muscle that Stefan and Damon created, so I gave it to him.

I should have known better.

I've seen him tear beating hearts from chests without a flicker of remorse. I knew his history.

I should have known he would crush me.

I should have known he would grind my heart beneath his heel. Everyone else did.

I suppose I should be grateful he came out and said it, but damn him. This so much worse than hearing Damon or Stefan murmur  _her_ name against my skin while I was in bed at my most vulnerable.

He told me over coffee, and he did try to spare my feelings at first, but I pushed and he snapped.

Nobody ever wants me; he might as well have said it.

Caramel Macchiato is ruined for me now, and so are Beignets; I loved both so much, but I don't think I'll be able to look at either again without getting this sick feeling in my gut. There are so many things that will never be the same again, but I'm choosing to focus on the coffee; it's a feeble distraction from my current situation.

I can't show him I'm afraid.

Nobody ever wants me, and now I'm going to die because this fucking idiot didn't get the memo.

He may be a foolish man but he still reminds me of him. He's got this unmistakable air of sophistication with his tailored suit and silk neck tie.

Every time I catch a glimpse of his purple tie through the open door I feel a shiver race through me and I have to choke down a sob because I remember how that material feels slipping through my fingers, sliding around my wrists and straining under my hands.

I've decided that silk is ruined for me now too.

The man walks in while I'm still trying to banish the memory from my head. It helps that my arms are extended above my head with a rough rope that burns my wrists. I shift as much as I can on the tips of my toes in order to ease the strain on my arms.

For all his acting he had never physically hurt me.

"I'm on vervain," I warn the stranger. His blue eyes only flash with amusement.

"I've no intention of compelling you my dear," he lifts a hand, caresses my face.

I recoil and grunt. The quick move made me lose balance. I readjust my weight and glare because if I don't I'll cry.

"I can see why he likes you," the man chuckles, "you have fire."

"What do you want from me?" I bite out the words, but I already know I'm just a means to an end. He takes me by surprise with a show of honesty.

"I want your lover to believe I'm open to negotiations. He has something I want."

"Believe?" I grasp at the word and hate the way my voice shakes.

"Yes," he smirks, leans close to whisper, "I want to work out a trade, but he'll never touch you again, or see you. He stole a century of my life and in return I shall destroy his beloved."

My broken heart shatters further at the word. 'Beloved' was his name for me: elskede. It was the name whispered to between silk sheets… to  _her_  between silk sheets.

"You're wasting your time," I shake my head. This time I do shed a tear. "He doesn't love me and he never has."

"She's lying." The female steps from the shadows and I feel more tears streak down my face.

They both ignore my sobs.

"She seems to believe it." He fingers the line of my V-neck, scraping his nail over the flesh. I barely feel the sting.

"Doppelgangers are skilled liars," she stares at me. I can feel her eyes cutting through layers of fabric and muscle.

"If she is lying I will soon have what I want," he nods to the space behind me and I see her disappear.

I hear an ominous clinking and swallow. Her voice makes my tired muscles shake.

"I would tell you to smile, but the camera won't be seeing your face for a while."

"I'm not lying." I can barely get the words out. I can't see the camera or anything through my cloudy vision.

"It that's true then we'll have our fun," he smirks and his eyes come into focus, "and maybe I'll let you live. Of course," his finger tips up my chin, "you'll have to prove to us what makes you doppelgangers so irresistible."

I'm not sure what to take from that so I just blink. The sound of a whip cracks near my head.

"Shall we begin?"

His tone is civil but his actions are anything but.

My shirt is physically torn from my body, and I've barely opened my mouth to gasp when a silk handkerchief is forced between my teeth. My bra joins the remnants of my shirt.

The gag muffles my voice, but I know he understands me because I'm begging like anyone else would in my position; his smile is serene.

He lifts his hand and traces me with his fingertips: the arch of my eyebrow, the curve of my cheek, and the swell of my breast. He stops at my nipple and it pebbles under the pinch of his fingers.

"How delectable."

He's appraising me with hunger in his eyes. He hefts the flesh and judges the size, shape, and shade, and I feel like I'm being prepped for auction.

"Do you think these are what attract them Aya?"

"She's hardly the standard of beauty: too plump."

I bristle at that. I may have body issues but they are reserved for my identical nature; I am not plump.

"Don't listen to Aya, my dear," he soothes, "she has no appreciation for the female form unless it's her own. I happen to like your curves," he squeezes me, "your breasts are perfect. It's such a shame I have to ruin them, but the message will be better received this way."

He disappears behind me and returns a second later with a whip and a sadistic smile.


	2. Elijah

It’s been a week and I still can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror. Just thinking about the things I said to her makes me sick, but I had to do it; there was no other choice.

I hear the door open at the front of the house and stand from my desk, tucking the picture into my breast pocket. Her scent is long gone, the image is the only thing that remains.

They are in the sitting room when I emerge from seclusion. There is a split second of silence and then the questions fly, and I know she texted Rebekah, but the nature of the message must have been vague.

“What did you do?” Her eyes flash.

For a moment I’m afraid of my baby sister. Against all odds she and Rebekah had become friends.

She surges forward, shoves my chest.

I let her. I deserve it.

“She said she is never coming back!”

“What the bloody hell have you done?”

I watch Niklaus pour himself a drink. He’s never voiced an opinion about my relationship before; I suspect it’s because it kept her close.

“I broke up with her,” I shrug, masking the pain in my voice.

Now it’s Kol’s turn to interject. Disapproval is written on his face when he approaches and it’s such a strange feeling. She would have called it a freaky Friday moment because the roles have clearly been reversed. I am meant to be the one scolding Kol, not the other way around.

I know what he is going to say and for a second I consider the merits of lying. I’m an excellent liar, we all are after a thousand years of practice, but they know the same tricks I do. I may be able to school my features, perfect my tone and hide my emotion behind my eyes, but I can’t control my heart; they know how to interpret the beats. It whispers the truth I try so hard to hide, and I thank anyone who listens that she couldn’t hear the sound.

They all know I’m in love with her. She knew it too, at least she did until I uttered the only words I knew would send her running from town, from me and from anyone that she would have associated with me.

“I had no choice,” I look over my siblings; it’s the first I’ve uttered the truth aloud. “Our enemies are circling. She’s human,” my eyes land on Niklaus, “she wasn’t safe here.”

I can’t remember the last time my little brother showed shame, but it passes over his face at my wordless accusation. I would have turned her in a heartbeat with her consent, but he would never allow it. Turning her would have put a dagger in my heart and a target on her back.

“She’s got no sense of self-preservation. She would never run off for her own safety; someone she loves, sure, but not her own.” Rebekah’s voice is a low growl. “She wouldn’t leave just because you told her she wasn’t safe…”

Rebekah trails off and it draws the eyes of the others.

Kol turns back to me and I square my shoulders. They all know her insecurities, they know what I’ve done. They know I had to break her heart.

“You didn’t tell her she wasn’t safe,” Kol’s eyes shift. He likes her too and considers her a friend of sorts; as much as Kol is capable of having a friend anyway. “Why?”

I’m expecting Rebekah’s indignation, but Kol’s is surprising. I shouldn’t be surprised because she is warm and full of light that draws others to her; she compassionate and kind and cares for people with her entire being.

“I broke her. I know that, but she is better off shattered and alive than dead at my feet…”

I grunt and rub my jaw; it stings from Rebekah’s slap.


	3. Elena

I'm cold.

I shouldn't be after the things he's done. My skin should be rubbed raw and flushed. I should feel so hot I want to crawl out of my skin, but I'm not.

I'm freezing. Patches of my skin, streaks really, are wet with sweat, blood and something thick that stings; it burns, but it's not enough to warm me.

A little colder and I might be numb, I might stop feeling it, but he won't let that happen.

He appears in my vision, pristine shirt dotted with blood… my blood. Klaus will be upset that this guy is wasting it, or maybe he won't; he has spent the last ten years generating a store of it. I think he only tolerated me for his brother since he made no secret of his dislike or me.

"He hasn't noticed you're gone yet," he hums.

I don't have it in me to do more than whimper when he drags something sharp from my collarbone to just above my nipple, adding one more cut to my skin. He lowers his head and drags his tongue over the line; it's almost soothing, unmistakably tender after the hours of torture.

I curse myself when I sigh.

"The vervain is gone," he chuckles.

The sound is dark and dangerous.

My arms are released and I fall, clinging to him to keep from hitting the stone floor. He is lean lines and sharp angles. There is something hard against my hip but I don't get time to think about it before he hoists me into his arms like a rag doll.

Through the ringing in my ears I hear the conversation, but I can't see them. I can't bear to open my eyes.

"I trust your judgement Aya. Choose the best portion of that video and send out demands; preferable one where she is screaming."

"Where are you going?"

"She has yet to prove what makes her so irresistible. It's obviously not anything on her upper body."

I black out for a while after that. When I come to I'm submerged in warm water with a bleeding wrist in my mouth.

I shove him away and scramble to put space between us. The water is tinted light pink from my blood, but it's still translucent. I cross my arms and press my thighs together when he looks down.

"He should be receiving our message soon," he watches me like a hawk.

"I already told you he doesn't care about me," I grimace. There is a metallic taste in my mouth and I long for a tooth brush.

His hand plunges beneath the water and between my thighs. I try to jerk away but he's a vampire, and I get the sense he's an old one; I could never get away on my own.

"You seem to have mastered the art of deception." I feel like an experiment under his gaze. "You'll have to tell me how you've schooled your heart."

He yanks me closer, forcing my legs apart. Water sloshes over the lip of the tub as I'm all but pulled over beneath the surface. I have to use my hands to stay above the surface and with my ankles in the air I'm on full display, but he's not looking at my chest or the thatch of dark hair between my legs.

His eyes and the tips of his fingers are busy tracing a light scar on my thigh. It's dotted and raised with one small twist in the pattern; it's a perfect indentation of his teeth, including the crooked incisor, the one that made his smile so endearing.

The bite has never healed, not completely. Klaus had that pesky 'nobody-heal-my-doppelganger-unless-she's-on-the-verge-of-death' rule in case I ever felt inspired to play in traffic. He always seemed to think I'd pull a Katherine.

"Such an excellent liar," he meets my eyes, traces the scar with his tongue.

"I'm a terrible liar," I whisper, struggling against him. I nearly go under. I sputter and cough up the water that's managed to find a way into my mouth. "Ask anyone, and they'll tell you."

"Truly exceptional," his eyes darken and I'm reminded of the something hard at my hip.

"Let me go!" I spit out the words.

"But I'm nowhere near done with you. I've gotten my message out and now I intend to have some fun. I want to know why men throw themselves at your kind."

He's mincing his words, alluding to what he plans, but I don't want to believe it yet. I want to let him string me up again and rip my skin to shreds; anything but what I know he's planning.

"It's not your upper body…"

His teeth tear into my thigh, slicing through me femoral artery. I scream, choking on the sound. I've bitten in that spot many times before, but he lacks Elijah's finesse and doesn't care if he hurts me. I think he might even like it.

Sadistic bastard.

He extracts his teeth and I pant.

"It's not your blood…" he murmurs. The substance in question trickles down his chin. He wipes it away with a cloth and drops my legs back in the water.

I twist away, hissing when the heat circles the fresh wound on my thigh. His blood must be very potent because the skin heals slowly until I'm left with my original scar.

"I'll have to keep searching."

That's the only warning I get before he lifts me from the tub as if I weigh nothing. He slings me over his shoulder so I all I can see is the back of his tailored trousers until I'm thrown on something soft.

I roll onto my hands and knees but before I can move again to escape his hand is in my hair. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. He pulls my hair so hard that tears sting my eyes.

"You've certainly got fire," he runs his hand up my stomach.

I swing my hand back hard. His grunt tells me I hit home, but he doesn't release my hair. His pain passes as quickly as I inflict it and he wraps his free hand around my throat. I grow light headed fast.

Just when I think he's going to kill me he lets go and I fall, rolling onto my back. I gasp and sob, choking on my breath; his blood has moved past the healing stage. Each inward breath makes my throat burn.

He straddles my stomach and grasps my chin. I can't move. I can barely breathe. I grasp at him, clawing his arms, but he doesn't let go.

"Look at me," he instructs, and I listen because there is no alternative. "Let's be clear, my dear," his pupils dilate and I know I'm in trouble, "I am the only one inflicting pain here, and you will take whatever I see fit to give you. Am I understood?"

"Go to hell!" I force out the words.

My head turns to the left under the strength of his strike. I struggle further and he laughs as the blows rain down. My right eye is beginning to well and I begin to see my skin changing colour.

It hurts, but it's nothing compared to my broken heart. He wants to inflict pain. He won't enjoy this if I'm not hurt, but nothing he does will ever compare to the way my soul has been shattered.

That's what I cling to, that he'll never be able to break my soul, but I'm proven wrong when the leather tightens on my wrists and my bruised legs are separated.


	4. Elijah

I am unprepared for Rebekah’s sudden appearance in my study. She has vowed to never speak to me again and I expected her to keep that promise for at least a decade. She was even packing her things to move out, but it’s only been a few hours and here she is.

“You’re an idiot!”

I catch the small device she hurls at me and turn over the USB. She must see the confusion on my face.

“The only person you’re capable of convincing you don’t love Elena is Elena!” She spins on her heel and storms from the room.

“Where are you going?” I turn over the drive.

“To save my friend!”

A line appears between my brows. A feeling of dread begins at the base of my spine. The computer is right there on my desk. I have to slow down so I don’t jam the hardware inside and destroy both it and the laptop.

There are two files inside: a video and a notepad. I open the video first and am greeted with a sight that makes my blood run cold; it boils when the image shifts. My vision is floods with red until I’m surprised I can make anything out. The notepad is spared a brief glance.


	5. Elena

I wish I was numb, but I’m not.

I can feel each bite mark; the rings burn painfully all over my body: neck, shoulders, breasts, hips and thighs.

I’m battered and bruised and the sheet he covered me with only irritates my skin, but the worst pain comes from between my legs.

It was hard, supernaturally fast and lasted forever. I know I’m bruised and probably bleeding; there’s definitely blood between my cheeks from when he switched after declaring ‘it’s not your cunt’. Everything is bruised, bleeding or broken.

I struggle to take a deep breath and whimper; at least one of my ribs is broken. I want to roll onto my back, take the pressure off my chest, but I don’t have the energy; plus I think my hip bones have been fractured too.

So I lay still, take shallow breaths and alternate my pleas. First I beg for someone to help me and when nobody comes to my rescue I pray for my shattered heart to crap out so I stop feeling the pain, and then because I want to live I switch back.

My eyes are swollen shut so I can only see a thin sliver of the room. Blood rushes in my ears so I can’t hear anything but the distant sound of thumping.

I don’t bother expanding energy on the question of why he didn’t kill me. He said he would, but obviously he doesn’t want to deal with a transitioning vampire.

The thumps grow closer and I resign myself to my fate. It’s not like my legs will let me run; I can’t even squirm between the stupid silk sheets without every inch of my body erupting in agony.

I wonder if he’s coming to kill me or beat me, feed on me or force me. I don’t think my body can handle any more of the latter without succumbing to the first option.

The door crashes open. I think it’s been knocked off the hinges. I hold my breath, stay perfectly still – at least I think I do – because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry or hearing me scream.

He likes that.

I keep telling myself I won’t move, I won’t let him enjoy this, but when a hand touches my hair I jerk and whimper and I want to hate Elijah but right now I just hate myself; all I had to do was stay silent and still.

I hate myself, but I still try to scramble away. Scrambling amounts to me pulling away a quarter of an inch and crying out.

I’m ashamed of my weak plea of ‘no’, but whatever emotional strength I once held is long gone.

The thumping continues in the distance.

“No,” I moan; flames leap over my skin.

I can feel the hand hovering over the top of my head. The fingers are gently shifting my hair away, but it takes a while before I realize that strong fingers are slim and the voice is distinctly feminine.

I’m guided onto my back and feel the sheet being adjusted. I want to push the arm away. I don’t want to be healed so he can torture me again, but I don’t have the strength until the blood floods my mouth.

I jerk, filled with a rush of energy, and clutch at the sheet, staring with wide unseeing eyes.

“It’s alright, love,” she sits on the side of the bed.

I blink back the tears when I finally see her: blonde hair, blue eyes, and the black trench coat I picked for her last month.

“Bekah?” My lower lip trembles. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or not but it doesn’t matter because when I see her I sag with relief.

She strips off her coat and guides my heavy limbs into the sleeves. She has to belt the material because I’ve gone limp. I have her blood racing through me, but the healing process is slow this time.

“Can you walk?” I nod and she helps me stand, but my knees buckle under my weight.


	6. Rebekah

She collapses against me, dead on her feet, and I pick her up.

I cradle her in my arms as if she were made of porcelain because until she finishes healing she is.

I don’t know that she will ever recover completely. I saw the look in her eyes, and I can smell the mix of bodily fluids in the room. She may never come back from this. I’ve seen woman come out of such situations shattered beyond repair.

I shake myself from that thought quickly. Elena Gilbert is ridiculously strong. She can survive anything. She survived Nik for heaven’s sake; she’s spent a decade surviving Nik.

I move towards the door with Elena asleep in my arms and every intention of making sure one of my good-for-nothing brothers has ended the simpering sycophant’s life, but I’ve barely gone five steps down the hall when my blood runs cold.

Nothing has changed. The Strix are still screaming. Elijah is still searching rooms and slaughtering anyone who gets in his way. Kol is still unleashing chaos on the lower level of the mansion. Nik is still inflicting toxic wolf bites that will end whoever Elijah leaves alive.

Nothing has changed, but everything is different. Sometimes the blood doesn’t work.

Her heart has stopped beating.


	7. Elijah

Three quarters of my sire line are dead. Those that remain alive owe their lives to Rebekah’s mourning wail; it drew my attention from my frantic search to where my sister had already found her.

She’s laying in my bed now – the bed that was ours a week ago – without a heartbeat. Rebekah assures me she will wake up soon, but how long she will stay awake remains to be seen; long enough that I can apologize, assuming I can get out the words.

I can hear Rebekah now; she is in the drawing room screaming over Niklaus. He’s angry because Rebekah gave her blood and she died, and she is yelling about having no other choice; Elena was half dead when Rebekah found her.

No matter what choice she makes I know my next move is to hunt down Tristan and flay him alive, remove every internal organ, let him heal and do it all over again.

The bastard got away in the confusion.

I’m torn from my murderous plans when her body convulses once, twice, and then she bolts up and gasps for breath.

The only thing that keeps me from pulling her into my arms and lever letting go is the knowledge of what she’s experienced.

“Elena.”

Her eyes snap to me and the fear shifts to something else. I know that look, it’s the one I put there a week before in my misguided attempt to protect her.

I see her lick the roof of her mouth and know the hunger she feels on an intimate level. She knows what is happening to her; my face gives it away, or maybe she remembers Rebekah.

It’s habit that brings my hand up, I lower it when she pulls back.

There is nothing wrong with her memory.

There is so much I want to say, but the only words I can force out are: “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” She crosses her arms, glares. “You broke my heart and all you can say is you’re sorry?”

Her voice rises in pitch, fire flashes in her eyes. it’s the angriest I have ever seen her, and she obviously hates me now, but I can’t let her die believing the things I said.

“I lied, Elena. I was trying to protect you, and you wouldn’t have left if I asked. I wanted to keep you safe from the enemies…”

“That would torture me?” She cuts me off.

I can see the tension in every muscle of her body.

I don’t think she realizes that she is doing it, but she has drawn her knees together and lifted them. She’s a few seconds from wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking. I want to hold her and let her break down like I know she wants to.

I lift my hand towards her and she recoils, hissing.

“Don’t touch me.” She fixes her eyes on a spot on the wall.

I drop my hand in my lap and sigh. The shame prickles at the base of my spine. I did this. I’m responsible for the pain in her eyes and the harm that came to her body. She was targeted because of her relationship with me, because Tristan knew – despite my efforts – how important she is to me. She should have been with me; safe and protected.

“I’m sorry Elena.” I reach into my pocket and take the bag of blood, placing it on the nightstand. “Rebekah tried to heal you, but sometimes – when the injuries are too severe – vampire blood doesn’t work.”

Her eyes narrow.

I’m certain she already knows that she is in transition, but I need to say. I set a ring next to the blood bag. I had it spelled a few months ago – just in case.

“You have a decision to make.”

She must hear the question in my tone because she closes her eyes.

It wasn’t meant to happen like this. Her hand was never supposed to be forced.

I see a tear catch on her eyelashes when I lean closer to hear her whisper.

“Get out.”


	8. Elena

I have to choose.

I knew the moment I woke up that I had to choose.

The burn in my throat and the ache in my body remind me of that fact; they are as telling as the set of his mouth. I feel exactly like Stefan described all those years ago, but one thing is different.

There is a layer of grime on my skin: caked blood, sweat and other fluids I don’t want to think about.

I can still feel his touch.

The bathroom beckons me with the promise of cleanliness. The familiar shower greets me with open arms. I don’t think to remove Rebekah’s jacket until I’m inside beneath the spray and at that point I have to peel the material away before I can scrub at my skin.

I have to choose: life or death. I have to make a decision, but I can’t greet either with his hands lingering on my skin, so I scrub.

And I scrub.

And I scrub.

I rub until the water runs cold, and then I scrub my skin some more.

I wash until I’m pink and new. My arms and thighs sting from the furious wash. My eyes are swollen and dry from crying. My throat is hoarse from the choking sobs I couldn’t stop.

I wash until I can’t feel his hands anymore. By the time I step out I can practically hear Rebekah’s exasperated ‘you used all of the hot water again’. I almost smile, but I can’t.

I have a choice to make.

My fingers curl around a fluffy towel. I wrap the soft material around me and snuggle into the warmth; it smells like him.

I think of how he was trying to ‘protect’ me and the angry irrational side of my brain wants to blame him and let him bask in the guilt until it consumes him because I shouldn’t have died, I shouldn’t be wrapped in his towel while a clock ticks off the remaining seconds of my life.

I want to blame him, but I can’t because the truth of the matter is I would have been kidnapped either way. They nabbed me in the coffee shop during my midnight beignet and hot chocolate run; it’s a trip I almost always made alone. There was no way he could have stopped this.

Maybe he would have noticed sooner, but it couldn’t have been prevented.

I choose to place the ‘irresistible’ shit on Katherine’s shoulders; she’s the one that toyed with Stefan, Damon and even Elijah, which sparked the interest in me.

I hate her.

I hate him.

I hate silk.

No matter how hard I try though I can’t seem to hate Elijah.

I force myself to breath, focus. There is a decision to make and nobody can make it for me.

It’s not like I haven’t considered it over the last few years. I’d have been a fool not to, sharing my heart with an Original vampire; six years of my life have been spent at his side.

When I imagined the transition it was different. For one thing, the blood that would turn me was Elijah’s. For another, there was no hesitation on my part; in my daydream I drank the blood immediately.

I did it because I loved him and I wanted eternity.

If I’m honest with myself I still love him, but my heart hurts.

Leaving me on my own is a step in the right direction but it will take a while before we’re back to where we were, where we used to be; if we can get back there at all.

I slip into the bedroom, perch on the side of the bed and glare at the blood bag like it’s going to grow teeth and bite me. The thought is ridiculous.

I’m the one with the fangs.

The staring match is interrupted by a knock and I look up, prepared to snap at him or launch my body into his arms – the decision will be made in a split second – but it’s not Elijah.

Rebekah is standing at the door. She takes one long look at me before flashing to my side and pulling me into a sideways hug.

I would cry, but I’m officially out of tears.

“How do you feel?”

I life my head and give her the look. She clears her throat and nods.

“Right, stupid question.”

“I died,” my eyes flit to the bag on the nightstand. My body aches for it and I wonder how long I can actually put off the decision before my organs shut down.

“I tried to save you,” her voice cracks, “we all did. Dozens of vampires were killed in the skirmish.”

I frown. Her voice has shifted in pitch the way it does when she’s hiding something she doesn’t want to.

I’m really sick of people hiding things from me.

“What is it?” I straighten up, clutch his towel closer as if it will shield me from the thing she wants to protect me from.

She takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. I start to think I’ll have to push for answers, but then she speaks.

“the group’s leader got away. Elijah was distracted and Tristan took advantage of the situation to escape.”

My heart stutters because I know the name. The woman, Aya, had called him Tristan when watching his work. I think she also opened the door to the bedroom during… at least one ring of blood had been created by her teeth.

“That the hell could have distracted Elijah?” My anger returns in full swing, clawing at my skin because he doesn’t get distracted; nothing cracks his resolve.

I can see it in her eyes when she looks at me and I don’t need her to answer because I know.

“I died.”

“You died.”

I died and he lost it. The man that inflicted my pain got away. I’ve never felt such a strong desire to kill before, but right now I could kill. I want this man dead. I want him to suffer and know pain, but I can’t do it the way I am.

So I reach for the bag of blood and let Rebekah show me how to open it. It hits my tongue and there is a sharp sting along my gums.

I’m angry. I want revenge and I don’t want it enacted on my behalf, post mortem.

And part of me wants to get back to the way we were.


	9. Elena - 319 days later

****

It’s taken nearly a year to hunt him down. The year was spent sparing and coming to the realization that I would never have any hope of besting Tristan de Martel.

I touch the dart in my pocket and remind myself that I don’t have to take him down; I just have to get close enough to administer the altered epi-pen.

He’s closing in on me with that psychotic grin. Kol has one like it, but Tristan's lacks empathy; Kol’s mania – I’ve learned – is all for show.

I should have brought an Original with me, but Bonnie located the mansion and Tyler gave me the only weapon I need.

 _Come a little closer, you sick bastard._ I spit out a stream of blood. I half expect him to stop me but his eyes widen when the needle finds a home in his throat.

I try to jump to my feet and get away by my arms are wrenched behind my back so hard my shoulder pops from its socket.

_Should have brought back up._

The thought barely passes through my head when I’m released and the depleted ranks of the Strix scatter.

A glance over my shoulder reveals the woman, Aya, who is missing her heart. I look forward and see that Tristan is down with a broken neck.

I can see the rage on his face when he examines the pin-prick and lifts the discarded epi pen.

“I pray this came from your friend and that my brother was not a party to this lunacy,” he waves to the dead bodies.

“I happen to think this plan was well thought out,” I cross my arms after they heal, “and the venom came from Tyler.”

“Well thought out?” He rises and stalks towards me; so close I can feel his heart beating against my chest. “You were two seconds away from having your head torn from your neck.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing Bonnie completely disregarded my request and told you where to find me.” I lift my chin.

“It was Caroline, actually,” he brushes a lock of hair from my eyes and wipes a streak of blood from my temple. “She was concerned you were going to get yourself killed.”

“I can handle myself.” I grit my teeth. It’s become the sole source of tension between us. He wants to protect me and I I don’t want to stand behind anyone ever again.

“You’ve proven that time and time again,” he twirls the epi-pen and cocks an eyebrow, “but every vampire in this group has a minimum of two centuries on you. Do not pretend this wasn’t a result of pure luck.”

“It was obviously luck,” I roll my eyes. “It was pure dumb luck, but it was about time my luck changed, don’t you think? I’m overdue for good luck.”

“I suppose so, but…” he shakes his head. “You’re not a killer Elena.”

“I didn’t kill him,” my eyes narrow, “I poisoned him.”

“When did you become so cold? You’re warm Elena; I’m the cold one.”

“You don’t need to remind me of that.” I see his expression fall and begin to regret the harsh words.

“I was only trying to protect you, you could have lived a full human life far away from me if you had left town.”

“So this is my fault now?” I jab my heart. Neither of us have spoken of the night I died since the night I died, but it’s been festering beneath the surface.

“I didn’t say that,” he shakes his head. “This wasn’t your fault, Elena. I’m the one that caused all of this. This is my fault.”

“No it’s not!” My anger boils over, words I should have said months ago. “They took me from the coffee shop, from the damn coffee shop where I went every night when I needed a caffeine jolt so I could keep writing because the only time I could write was the middle of the fucking night, so please tell me how you could have prevented that.” His eyes are wide, and his mouth opens and closes as he scrambles for a response. “You couldn’t have,” I lower my voice, “because you were always asleep when I ran out for coffee; everyone was.”

His hand comes up, cups my cheek; I don’t pull away.

“He targeted you because of me, because I stole a century of his life so I could get my family away from Mikael.” His eyes drift from me to Tristan and back. “If he wasn’t so hell bent on revenge none of this would have happened.”

He drops his hand and takes a step back.

“I understand that you hate me, but I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t hate you, you idiot,” I snap, drawing his eyes up from the glare he had placed on Tristan. “I love you!”

I barely get the words out before he catches me, kisses me hard and fast, and I melt.

I melt because it’s been three hundred twenty seven days since I was last in his arms.

I melt because this is home.


End file.
